The Coming Dead
by The Grey Wolf Ghost
Summary: As the zombie plague descends on Armadillo and the townspeople prepare to defend it, a father sends his only son on a dangerous journey to the safety of Fort Mercer with a wagon train. But with zombies roaming the lands, no trail is safe, no road is safe, no place of refuge is safe. I have decided to continue this fic, it is no longer a one shot. Please Read and Review, thank you!
1. Chapter 1

I had been against the move from the start, sometimes you just get a feeling that something ain't going to turn out right, one of these days I'll learn to listen to that feeling an' put my foot down about.

After my mother died, the last thing I wanted to do was move away from everything I had grown up with, especially my friends and my grandparents. Unfortunately being ten has its down side and I had no say whatsoever in my living arrangements, I had even less say in how much I could bring with me, one suitcase and my rucksack was the most, so whatever I could fit in those two was what I could bring.

The town we moved to wasn't anything to talk about neither, I hated it the instant the train pulled closer. For one thing its name, who the heck names a town Armadillo and another it was in the middle of nowhere. I don't mind the middle of nowhere, that's not a problem for me, I just have a problem with one that's in the middle of the desert nowhere. Give me an out of the way town that's in the woods and I can deal with it.

We didn't even have a house when we arrived in Armadillo. My father rented us two rooms above the saloon while he settled things regarding our new property. Apparently a small farm outside of Armadillo was for sale my father felt it was fixable and could be turned into a profitable ranch, to which I wished him luck, I just didn't understand why I had to be dragged into it. My mother never would have tolerated the move to begin with and she'd be turning in her grave iffen she'd seen the manner of people in and out of that saloon.

Thankfully my father wasn't completely focused on the new ranch, because he did remember to enroll me in the local school and on top of that he bought me a horse. I think it was a bribe, but bribes would be tolerated.

I had just begun to settle into the new life my father was trying to build for us. The schoolmaster was kind, but was responsible for educating ten kids between five and thirteen who for the most part wanted nothing to do with learning anything, his focus had to be on the kids who had no interest and needed help as opposed to the three kids who wanted to learn and were pretty well set. I made friends with these two kids pretty quick, as we had a lot in common.

I also became friends with the shopkeeper of the general store, who despite the fact he hated everyone who wasn't him and made that fact known to anyone who would stand still long enough to listen to him, he tolerated me for some reason. To avoid my schoolmates with who I was less welcomed, I spent time in his shop, sweeping up and stocking shelves for him.

I'd also listen to his complaints, his degrading comments about everyone who wasn't white, male, protestant, American. I look back and wonder if he'd tolerate me as much as he did if he knew I was one of the specific people he complained about. My mother was Jewish and if there was one thing the Old Man hated the most it was Jews.

But listening to his rants were the least of my problems and I actually felt safer in his store than out in the open where my schoolmates could find me, where I could be pushed around, called Runt, at least Mr. Moon never called me Runt an' hit me with rocks.

It was early in the morning, an hour or so before dawn. I was sound asleep, buried deep under my blanket and pillow, my attempt to block out the sounds from earlier in the night.

I didn't hear my father's boots on the floor boards, nor the creaking of the boards under his weight. I didn't wake up until I felt a gloved hand over my mouth. I panicked and struggled to get away.

My father shushed me and calmed me down before removing his hand from my mouth slowly.

"Dad?" I said groggily "what's goin' on?"

"Get dressed Jefferson, put only what you can carry into your rucksack only what's necessary."

"Why?" I asked

"Jus' do as I say, be quick 'bout it and quiet 'bout it. I'll pack your saddlebag. You've got five minutes." And with that my father went through the adjourning door into his room.

I was still half asleep as I quickly dressed, then packed some things into my bag; I was very confused, and as my brain began to wake up, the more confused I became. I didn't hear the normal noises of Armadillo; in fact if I listened carefully I swore I heard inhuman screams.

I moved to the balcony door and pushed it open slowly looking outside. Before I could get a good look outside, I was yanked away from the door.

"Pa!" I exclaimed and he covered my mouth again.

"Jefferson please!" he replied letting me go.

"What is going on?" I asked stubbornly, I wasn't going to do anymore packing until he answered my question.

My father sighed, I've never seen him this concerned, even when Ma got sick he wasn't overly concerned with whatever was ailing her. Sure he got the doctor and did everything he was told regarding her care, but my father, like the rest of us, even Ma herself, all assumed it was just a run of the mill cold.

But the fact that my father did look concerned made me shut my mouth right quick. Gesturing for me not to make a sound, he slid open the door and pointed to the streets below.

The sight before me nearly knocked me off my feet I was so shocked. Grown-ups, grown-ups I'd come to know weren't themselves.

In fact I was pretty sure I saw Ol' Madam Rue, a woman who "worked" in the saloon running down the road towards the Marshals office on her hands and feet.

I nearly threw up my supper when I saw one man tackle another to the ground as blood exploded everywhere. My father tried to shield my eyes from that, but it was to late I'd seen.

I turned to my father, as he pulled me back into the room, pretty sure I'd had my fill of looking, which I'd had.

"Something's made the townsfolk go mad, like mad dogs." My father explained softly, "I've got to get you out of here."

"No sir." I replied, I eyed his Winchester leaning against the bed "iffen you're going to fight I'm going to stay here with you." I grabbed my slingshot from my rucksack "I can fight with you."

"I'm afraid it's going to take more than a toy, but I appreciate the offer son."

"I don't want to go…" I argued then a thought crossed my mind "where am I going to go, iffen these things are here, they could be all over New Austin, there might not be a safe place. Wouldn't it be safer for me iffen I stayed with you?"

"It's not like I'm sending you by yourself Jeffy boy. Harold Falk is going too, he's taking the res' of the women and children out of town to Fort Mercer. It's defenses haven't been breached and is the safest place around. Me and the others are going to stay on high ground and defend Armadillo as long as we can. Hopefully we can find a cure 'fore this thing takes over the country."

"What if it already has?" I asked, my body shaking.

My father hugged my shoulders

"Don't worry about the 'what ifs', let me worry about that."

In addition to my slingshot, my father gave me his small revolver to take with me. I've shot it a couple of times and can handle the kickback pretty well. Though my father warned me it was only to be used in case of an emergency, and I weren't to point it at anyone, cept them who weren't living my father cautioned me.

Getting out of the saloon proved to be a tricky thing. My father went first out onto the railing, my horse Timber was hitched below.

Considering he's usually in the stable behind the saloon, his presence made me realize that my father had been getting everything prepared long before he woke me up.

In the distance, nearest the church/school/cinema, I could see smoke rising, the smell of something rotting had filled the air and was assaulting my nostrils and it only took me moments to realize that smell was human flesh.

Out on the balcony my father made sure I had everything packed up tight, the commotion up near the church was reaching epic proportions and I knew it wouldn't be long before the commotion made its way to us. I could also see near the train-station a lone wagon, packed full of people and bags; leading this wagon on his own mount was Mr. Falk.

Far off down the dirt road, I could see dust being kicked up, the first group of refugees was on their way to Fort Mercer, I would be with second and final group, the first group that left was small, a trial group to see how dangerous the road to Fort Mercer was.

My father whistled and Mr. Falk whistled back.

"Ok Jefferson, this is it. stay close to Mr. Falk, do what he tells you and don't stop for anything. You remember how to get to Fort Mercer?"

I nodded it was a winding trip, but easy enough to navigate, I had done it with a couple of friends. The rumor had been a notorious outlaw, who was like a modern day Robin Hood only more crazy, had been held up there. Of course when I went there, just riding by it, it had been during the day and I wasn't trying to escape with my life.

"Are you going to come?" I asked

"If we can get the town's defenses established and help comes from the big city then yes. Word might have already been sent out, the army could be on its way. I might only be a day behind you." My father explained before pausing "ok get now." And with that he lowered me by my arm down to Timber, who neighed and bucked a bit nervously. Apparently we humans weren't the only creatures in Armadillo nervous about what was coming.

I gave my father a mournful wave as I gently nudged Timber forward to Mr. Falk. I continued to glance back at my father as he hoisted himself up onto the roof off the saloon, next to loads of ammunition and guns. I didn't want to look away from my father; I had a bad feeling about this whole thing, as if I might not see him again.

Mr. Falk gestured for me to come over and with a wave of his hand we headed out of town towards Fort Mercer.

No one spoke as we slowly made our way down the dirt road. Beside me the wagon creaked and groaned, some in the wagon were quietly crying and whimpering, but their sound was drowned out by the wagon. We hadn't seen signs of the creatures who had caused our evacuation, in fact the desert was quiet, eerily so, I hadn't even heard the yipping of a coyote, which was odd.

We had just reached Mercer Station, where the road would fork when a noise caught my attention. Timber heard it too, because he started bucking and ignoring my commands to calm down. I quickly looked around, but didn't see anything, not at first.

A flash of movement out of the corner of my eye made me look to my left, something was running through the desert grass, on all fours. It wasn't a coyote I knew that much, I couldn't be sure, but it had a human shape.

I hesitated to acknowledge it and that hesitation was costly. Mr. Falk's horse reared up in the front of the group, he tried to regain control over the animal, but was yanked off the horse by the thing I had seen, he hit the ground hard as his horse bolted. Everyone began screaming, the driver of the wagon flicked the reins urging the team to run.

I kicked Timber trying to keep up with the team, my father's words echoed in my mind 'don't stop for anything' I wanted to obey him, but at the same time I wanted to help Mr. Falk. But there was nothing I could do for him, four or five (it was hard to discern which) of these creatures had swarmed him like bugs to drops of sugar water and I saw blood flying in the air as they ripped him apart.

The group which had consisted of four on horseback, myself, Mr. Falk and two others, and the one wagon, all scattered in different directions, trying to escape the sudden attack of the creatures.

I watched as the wagon went off the road and through the dunes of the desert, it didn't get very far as one wheel hit a large boulder, sending the wagon into the air. The passengers flew into the air as well and landed hard.

Within seconds the hoards swarmed again taking out those unlucky enough to fall out of the wagon, while the horses continued to drag the wagon now missing two wheels through the desert. A handful of creatures followed it, grabbing those that fell out of the unmanned wagon.

This happened in the span of thirty seconds and by the time I had regained myself to realize it, a mass of creatures was running towards me, some on all fours, some running with their arms outstretched. I didn't think of anyone but myself, I kicked Timber hard as we galloped down the dirt road, outrunning the creatures easily.

However, panic and fear left no room for sense in my mind. Instead of heading towards Fort Mercer, which would've been easy I kept going, I let Timber make the decision of where to go. I wanted as much distance between those creatures and myself as possible and my horse was my only friend right now.

A screech that pierced my ears echoed around me and I rode past a pack of the creatures, allowing me a good look at them for the first time. The smell I had experienced back in Armadillo of rotting flesh was even worse now that I was feet from it.

Some of these creatures looked as if they had just crawled from the grave, while others looked fresh enough to have only just become one. Some were barley clothed, some had flesh falling off their bodies, and even some were missing limbs.

One reached for Timber's rump, near my saddle-pack and I quickly whipped out my father's revolver and fired. I'm not a good shot, after all I've only shot the gun a few times and was lucky to hit the bottles I've shot at. This time Lady Luck was with me, I managed to nail the creature right in the head, I felt sick as its head exploded, blood and brains flying in the air.

I closed my eyes and urged Timber to move faster, he had already given so much I was afraid he would run himself to death. I don't know how long we ran, it felt like hours, days, who knows. I just urged Timber onward, slowing only to a trot once in a while so he could catch his breath.

I felt exhaustion taking hold, my canteen thumped against my leg and I resisted the urge to drink, I didn't know where I was going to end up, Timber couldn't run forever, he would have to stop eventually and when he did there might not be water for either of us.

In the distance a shape loomed, the bright sunset was blinding, but the shape looked so familiar I could've sworn I was seeing things, a mirage perhaps. It was a house.

I pulled the reins, slowing Timber to a mere trot as we neared the house. It was abandoned, and it had been for a long time. A part of me told me to be weary of this place, something wasn't right here, but I was so exhausted so drained I just wanted to lay down anywhere.

I slid off of Timber and patted his neck, praising him for his effort. I took a sip of water, then poured some into my cap to allow Timber his share. I slowly walked up the hill towards the house; it was decrepit and certainly unlivable. But I didn't care.

Timber followed me up the steps and through the front door, furniture lay scattered about, the large stairs split at the top, with a hallway to the left and a landing that worked its way around to the other side of the house. Not as secure as I would've liked, if anything did come into the house, dead or alive, they'd be able to climb the stairs. I'd worry about that later, for now I had to find water. When I examined the kitchen finding nothing in the way of food or even water, though I had been hopeful.

My mind flashed back to school, a map that the teacher had shown us of New Austin and I suddenly remembered one location on the map…Tumbleweed a town that was similar in design to Armadillo, it had only lasted a year or two before it was abandoned when the railroad went around it instead of through it. Following its abandonment, it had become a known hideout for outlaws and why not, it was a perfect place to hide with its array of half destroyed buildings, tight corners, and vantage points for snipers.

This house was like a castle overseeing its kingdom, ready to defend it from all angles and despite the horrific exodus from Armadillo that ended as quick as it started I was awed by this house and the fact that I could quit possibly be the only soul, living or dead in Tumbleweed, it was mine and I hoped it would stay that way.

It was so quiet that if I held my breath I could hear nature speaking. One thing I definitely heard was the sound of running water. I followed the sound; stopping every now and then to be sure I was going in the right direction. Water made sense; after all if the outlaws had lived here they had to get their drinking water from somewhere.

Behind the house about thirty feet from the backdoor was a pump. Timber followed me through the house and out the backdoor; he must have heard the sound too. We made our way to the pump and I took hold of the handle, it took a few pumps but water began to flow from the pipe. Timber stepped forward and began drinking while I continued to pump. When he finally finished I filled my canteen for later and drank my fill from the pump itself.

The afternoon was getting closer to dusk and the heat was unbearable, but I had to deal with it and explore the rest of the house, make sure it would be safe to spend the night, safe from the creatures at least and if not, find some place covered and high up to sleep.

I led Timber back to the house and removed his saddle, blanket, and bridle. I placed them on an overturned chair and used my hand to brush off the mud, dirt, and blood that had dried and caked to Timber's fur. He whinnied and nudged me with his head and I realized he was just as scared about the situation as I was, he understood the danger too, but I could also see he was just as exhausted.

I took out a piece of flint from my pack, that my father had thought to pack for me, a curtain hanging limply from the broken window caught my attention and I ripped a piece, tying it to the broken leg of a chair I created a torch, which I lit using my flint. Despite the sun outside, inside the house was very dark, almost unnatural.

A glow coming from under a doorway caught my attention I moved my torch towards the door, holding it out in front of me. I turned the knob slowly and the light went out. I took a deep breath and counted to three, before I pushed the door open, it was a study of sorts, books scattered around, destroyed as much as the rest of the house. The only thing standing upright was a lantern, unlit and sitting on the floor.

I reached forward and put my hand over the lantern, expecting to pull it back from the heat, assuming it had only just been blown out, but the lantern was cold to the touch, a testament that it had not been used in a long time. I could've sworn I saw it glowing.

Quickly I backed out of the room and ran to the main room, I was suddenly apprehensive about staying here. I remembered that after the teacher had discussed the cause of Tumbleweed's abandonment, my classmates started their own discussion at lunch-time, the topic was based around the town really being a ghost town.

My classmates all had stories to tell, things their parents had experienced, things they had heard, things they claimed they had seen themselves. It always seemed like they'd try to out-tell each other, with the stories getting more and more outrageous. The common theme was Tumbleweed was not just abandoned, its residence had all randomly vanished into thin air, some claimed that they were all brutally murdered, others that a contagious disease had swept through the town and killed all the residence. Whatever the cause, it made the town a literal ghost town, complete with stories, stories that I enjoyed, but had been reluctant to believe, until now of course.

After what I had seen today though, my feeling of apprehension was outweighed by the fact I knew I was probably safer somewhere in this town overnight, then I was wandering the roads, trying to get to Fort Mercer, especially with those things out there. I just had to figure out what was the best place.

Picking up my saddlebag and rucksack and finally scratching Timber behind his ears, I headed up the weak stairs carefully. They creaked and groaned as I walked up them. The split really had me lost, I didn't know which would be the safer route to go and then I realized that the rooms all connected a way to move to each room without stepping onto the landing, but that didn't help me and my defenses any.

This wasn't going to work at all, true the house had actual beds and was high up on a hill like a castle, but it was defenseless and wouldn't make for a good, safe spot to sleep.

Not even bothering to look at the rest of the house I wandered back out the front door. There was still no sign of any living soul besides me and Timber, who followed me out of the house. The first building I saw was a dilapidated barn, which might work, barns have lofts, and ladders to get to them, no way a creature would be able to climb that.

Instead of a ladder though, I found another staircase going right to the loft. I felt my heart sink, was there no place here that had a busted staircase that the undead couldn't climb? But I had to admit it was better than the house, not to mention the staircase looked really weak, a few good blows with something heavy might jar it loose, and I could find rope or something I could attach that to the top and climb that easier enough, I could even make a pulley system to get my stuff up there once the stairs were gone.

In one of the old stalls I found a sturdy piece of rope, I just hoped it was sturdy enough. I climbed to the top of the loft and looked out the roof towards the town, it didn't look like ANY of the buildings were going to help me, even the saloon, built similar to the one in Armadillo didn't look all that secure at least not from a distance and I was running out of daylight to find something. It had to be the barn for the night, I had no other choice, at least for now.

I made sure some of my heavier things were up on the loft, such as Timber's saddle and my saddlebag, before I tied the rope from the strongest looking beam, it just barely made the ground. I tested the rope and the beam a couple of times, climbing up the rope and tugging on it to make sure it and the beam held my weight. Once I was satisfied with the test I went the next step, I found a rock and the remnants of a hammer in one of the abandoned buildings and brought it back to the barn.

"Here goes nothing." I muttered, double checking my rope, I hit the weak beam supporting the stairs as hard as I could. At first nothing happened except me nearly dropping the hammer on my foot from the force, pain shooting up my arms. More determined than before I hit it again and that did it, the beam tumbled to the ground and with it, the stairs came down frighteningly easy and I had to jump out of the way so it didn't crush me. Now the only way to the loft of the barn was my rope.

I hoped that if the town was invaded by the creatures, they wouldn't be able to jump high and I hoped they couldn't climb the rope. They could run, that I had seen them do, chasing after Timber and I, but jumping and especially climbing seemed to be difficult. My father had said he and the others would stay on higher ground to defend Armadillo, which made me sure I would be safe, at least for now.

Timber came up behind me and nudged me hard with his head, I hated to leave him on the ground level. But Timber is smart and resourceful, if anything came he knew how to defend himself and as a last resource, run. I've a whistle that's loud and sharp, and Timber's hearing is exceptional, if I whistled, he'd come back quickly.

It was started to get dark, night was coming to Tumbleweed and I was beyond exhausted. I scratched Timber's ears and climbed the rope to the loft, remembering to pull it up. I hated to admit I was scared, but after everything that had happened to me, I was very scared, homesick, and hungry. As I laid down on my bedroll, using my rucksack for a pillow, I could see the stars through the roof of the barn and felt comforted by them as I slowly drifted off to sleep.

Considering the previous day, I expected to have nightmares; dead creatures chasing me around, trying to kill me, things like that. Surprisingly I slept pretty soundly, until morning that is.

A scream shot me awake, an inhuman scream that sent chills down my spine. I crawled to the loft door and looked out into the town; the creatures were everywhere, they stalked around, while some crawled on all fours. They screamed and made gurgling noises that were not only disgusting, but chilling.

As I watched, a couple let out a howl and walked past the loft window. They hadn't noticed me yet, but no sooner had that thought crossed my mind, when suddenly another one let out a scream, calling the herd of them to the barn. They crowded inside looking up at me with skin hanging off their faces, eyes falling out of their sockets, and limbs missing or distorted. The smell was unbelievable and suffocating, the creatures knew I was there and they were trying to figure out how to get to me.

I reached into my pack and pulled out my sling shot, I shot a couple right in the head, but it didn't deter them, they kept coming and with only three shots left in my father's revolver and only a couple rounds to reload the gun, I wasn't about to waste my ammo on the now twenty at least creatures that had crowded into the barn or were stalking the outside looking for another way in.

I had trapped myself in this mess and with only a little water, and even less food, I knew I was in trouble; I should've tried to get to Fort Mercer or at least tried to get back to Armadillo. not only was I trapped out here, but no one knew I was here except me, my horse, and the hordes of the undead.

* * *

A/N: This was just something I wrote on a whim, the idea came to me when I was playing the Undead version of the game and was playing bowling for zombies in Tumbleweed. I might continue it, but for now it will remain as a one shot with the ending as is.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: This fic started out as a one shot because I liked leaving the ending up to the readers imagination, but I decided to try and write a non-cliff hanger ending to it and see how it goes, I've had a lot of PM's asking if I was going to continue this or leave it alone and a lot of them insisted they wanted me to continue it so here it is. I hope you all like it. There will be at least two more chapters of this fic after this chapter so be patient with me on this. I still feel a little funny not leaving it as a one shot cliff hanger, but we'll see how it goes. You guys asked for it so here it is.

I do not own any of the recognizable characters from the game Red Dead Redemption.

XXX

The last thing John Marston wanted to do after dealing with the undead in Blackwater, Thieves Landing, and of course the whole incident at the McFarland Ranch where he had been forced to shoot Drew McFarland, well he wasn't really in the mood to deal with more of the undead.

As he neared Armadillo, he hoped that it was clear at least, that it somehow managed to defend itself from the hordes. However, when Marston pulled his horse to a stop near the abandoned church just outside of town he knew that wasn't the case. He could hear the inhuman screams even from this distance and he could see the smoke billowing in the air from the town, a similar horizon to the other towns.

Knowing he'd probably regret it, Marston spurred the horse to move again and guided him slowly down the road. He pulled the horse to a stop again, this time just behind the schoolhouse/movie theater. Given the way these things acted, riding a horse into town was like putting up a big sign that advertised fresh meat. Taking this into consideration, Marston dismounted the horse and slapped its rump sending it off into the desert and therefore out of harm's way.

Quietly, Marston snuck down the small hill and tried to stay out of sight as he neared the buildings, it was then he got a good look at Armadillo. The place was more over run then even Thieves Landing had been. The undead creatures were everywhere, and only a handful of people seemed to be defending what was left to defend of the town.

Gathered on the different roof tops, stood four men and one woman; Marshal Johnson seemed to be in the wind, as were his deputies, Marston didn't even see the old crazy shopkeeper Herbert Moon. Marston figured if anyone was going to be fighting off the zombies it would've been any one of those men, but he didn't see anyone he recognized.

A herd of the undead noticed Marston and began running towards him, arms extended, while some ran on all fours. Quickly he pulled out his revolver and in succession shot five of them right in the head, putting them down easily. Without waiting for more to notice him, Marston climbed up to the roof of the bank and made his way over to one of the men trying to defend the town.

"Ain't you a sight for sore eyes mister," the man said, his voice sounding like sandpaper like he hadn't had water in a while and he was sunburned beyond belief, Marston wondered for moment how long he'd been up on the roof. "I'm running out of ammo, you got any rifle rounds?"

"As a matter of fact I do," Marston replied, he pulled out what he could spare and handed it to the man who looked at him with grateful eyes

"Thank you kindly mister, this here will come in real handy. These things can be put down just gotta go for the head shot," as if to demonstrate the man took aim and fired one shot, down went the zombie with ease.

Figuring this spot was as good as any, Marston knelt down next to the man and began firing, putting down zombie after zombie, until only a handful remained.

Between Marston, the sunburned man, and the other four on rooftops they put down the rest of the zombies. But not before one man got overconfident and moved from his rooftop perch to the balcony of the saloon.

Apparently the zombies had no problem with stairs as a few of them, including one nasty looking one with two hatchets already sticking out of his skull, mounted the stairs, and over took the man before the rest of the shooters could do anything about it.

Even Marston had to turn away from that scene as the blood gushed up into the air as the hoard devoured the man. Once they were satisfied, they turned their attention back on their next meal. They were all congregating in one area making it difficult to get a clear shot. Marston was tempted to call attention on himself and pull them out into the open, but before he could even consider it, a few people on horseback rode into town, firing their guns in the air and at the occasional zombie.

Clearly trigger happy and overconfident, the idiots slowed down as they reached the general store to shot a couple of the remaining zombies. They were so preoccupied with those few, they didn't see the dozen or so that came running from the saloon and pulled one of them off his horse, devouring him and the animal in a bloody sea of zombies, his companion didn't stick around to face the same fate as his friend and spurred his horse hard, bolting out of town, leaving behind a cloud of dust.

As sad and needless as this was, it gave Marston and the others the chance they needed to bring down the rest of the zombie hoard. The shooting didn't stop until the last zombie hit the ground, clearing the town.

A loud applause arose from the victors and Marston couldn't help but smile at the celebration as everyone began climbing down from the rooftops to enjoy a moment of peace and a chance to resupply.

The man who Marston has shared the rooftop with, climbed down and made his way quickly to the saloon, Marston wasn't sure why, but he followed him.

Inside, the man was behind the counter pouring himself a glass of whiskey. He nodded at Marston when he spotted him and poured a glass for him too.

"I'd normally stick to water, ain't much of a drinker, but no one seems to be sure what's causing this here plague. Some folks are saying its in the water so don't drink it. I aint sure what it's in, but a man's gotta drink something." He threw back the shot of whiskey and retched a little as the burning liquid his scathing throat.

"So they say," Marston agreed with the last thing the man said

"Samuel McGrath, everyone just calls me Sam though" the man said holding out his hand "and I sure do appreciate you showing up and helpin' us."

"Marston, John Marston and you're welcome,"

Sam stared at Marston for a second

"You the outlaw that was helping bring in that gang up at Fort Mercer?" he asked

"Among other things, yeah," Marston replied

"Where you coming from John?"

"Just came from the McFarland Ranch, before that I was in Blackwater, just trying to get some information on what the hell is going on."

"Damned if I knew," Sam replied pouring two more drinks "we never had any warning. All of a sudden three days ago, some folks come riding into town before dawn screaming that the cemetery up there near the old church is emptying out, the dead that's buried there are coming out of the grave and attacking the living. A few apparently got bit and bam they joined the undead. We got as many of the women and children outta town as possible, loaded 'em up on wagons and horses and sent 'em out to Fort Mercer. Word had it that some folks were holed up in there and were accepting refuges. It's walls are to high for these things to climb and that main gate, well it would take an army to break it down, we all figured it was the safest place. The rest of us volunteered to stay behind and try to defend the town. We was hoping that the army be coming by now." Sam paused "so I'm assuming things ain't much better up north?"

"No, my wife and son are infected, got 'em in safe keeping till I can figure something out. I was hoping there was a cure in Blackwater, but all I found was a mess and more rumors to add to the pile."

"Where you heading now John?"

"Probably out to Old Fellows Rest, I'm following a foolish lead that might put an end to this whole thing, figured I'd see how Armadillo was holding up first. The Marshal, did he skip out before this whole thing started?"

"Leigh? Shoot no, him and his deputies have been doing their part, haven't seen the deputies for a while, but Marshal he's round somewhere, he was trying to get us more ammo before you showed up. Apparently he's got some kind of an emergency supply hidden somewhere."

"Well I'll probably drop in on him and see if he's got any ideas." John stood up and finished the last of his whiskey "thanks for sharing the bottle with me, friend."

Sam took a deep breath

"Mr. Marston, I don't suppose you'd be willing to do me a favor," he paused "I know you don't know me and you're trying to help out your own family, but…well I sent my boy out with the last wagon train. It was the last train to make it out before the hordes showed up, he was on his own horse. Look I just want to make sure he made it to Fort Mercer okay. He's only ten, he's a smart kid, and resourceful, but we haven't heard anything in three days about the wagons, no one has been able to get out of town to go check. I just got a bad feeling. I can pay you, I don't have much, but I can give you whatever I can."

John thought this over, a part of him knew he didn't have time to be running errands for everyone in New Austin while there was a zombie plague going on, but on the other hand he was a father and he could put himself easily in this man's shoes. He tried to think about what if this was Jack, he'd want someone to do the right thing and check on him.

"Fort Mercer you say?"

"Right," Sam reached into his pocket and extracted a photo "it's not in the best shape, we had it a before we left the east coast, right before my wife…died, that's Jefferson right there, in front of his mother, he was eight in that picture, but it's all I got." Sam stared at the bottle in front of him "please Mr. Marston, find my boy, I lost my wife, I can't lose Jefferson too."

John tucked the picture into his pocket and nodded

"I'll do what I can Sam, can't promise anything, but I'll head up to Fort Mercer."

"Thank you John," Sam paused "wait one second," he moved quick for a man that had been baking in the hot sun for three days as he disappeared upstairs. He was gone only a moment or two before he came back down, carrying a beautiful Winchester repeater and a small satchel. "Once they attacked, I grabbed what I could and got up to the roof. We had literally just sent the last wagon out of town when these things showed up. This here gun is my pride and joy, I told you I don't have much, but I want you to have it and as much ammo as I can spare."

John took the repeater from Sam and admired it, it was a fine gun and he could see how much it tore Sam to part with it. At this point, the more weapons a person had, the better off they were.

"Tell you what," John said "consider it a loan, I use it to find your boy, I return him and the gun to you."

Sam nodded and shook John's hand, first thing John had to do was find the Marshal, see if he had any idea about what was going on, then he'd head off to find the kid.

XXX

The ride from Armadillo to Fort Mercer was a sight; there were more undead strutting around then any critters John could remember ever seeing. Fortunately they were to slow to actually pose a threat to John on horseback at full gallop, not for lack of trying on the undead's part.

As he neared Mercer Station, something caught John's eyes; he wasn't sure what it was at first as he turned the horse in the direction. The closer he got though, he quickly realized it was a wagon, missing an axel and laying in a crumbled heap. It was covered in blood, assorted body parts, like the whole wagon had been attacked in a drove, and the survivors overwhelmed. He didn't see any of the creatures stalking around, but kept a sharp ear out for them just in case as he dismounted the horse and began to search the area.

Judging by the footprints, handprints, and assorted drag marks the attack had been massive; he could see where it had started and where it had ended. Looking at the strewn body parts, John was a little relieved to see that they appeared to be a few adults, not children. He also saw footprints, some of adults, but a number of little footprints that appeared to be running from the area in the direction of Fort Mercer. Maybe some of the survivors had gotten away, made it to Fort Mercer, Sam's kid too most likely.

John climbed back on his horse and guided him around the body parts back to the road towards the fort.

By the time John reached Fort Mercer he was pretty sure his hunt for Sam's son was going to be over pretty quick. The footprints from the wagon continued without hesitation up the hills and were leading him right to the fort. Clearly as many as five kids and two or three adults had made it to the fort.

John approached the main gate of Fort Mercer and whistled up to the man who was supposed to be standing guard. He was apparently sleeping instead of watching for survivors. The footprints ended right near the gate, so John hoped for the guard's sake that he hadn't been sleeping when the kids came running. John was ready to throw the guard to the hordes if he didn't find at least five kids inside that fort.

Lazily the guard woke up and leaned down to look at the visitor. He nearly fell out of his chair in surprise, which would've been a bad thing since the chair was right on the edge of the wall, a mistake that would have sent him to the ground below along with some broken bones.

"Hey, you's not infected are you mister, you's one of them?" the guard shouted loud enough to bring the hordes from miles away, added to that he was pointing his gun at John and looked pretty shaky with it, like he was either drunk or just not used to handling a gun.

"I aint infected you fool and I aint one of them. Let me in before they come from all the bellowing you're doing up there."

The guard looked like he wanted to just leave John out there to be eaten, but he shouldered his gun and shouted down:

"Open them gates, there's some idiot outside looking to come in, he don't look infected only stupid."

John was now certain he was going to throw that bastard to the undead just as soon as he could, but he was grateful that they opened the gate and let him in.

Once John walked inside, a group of men quickly shut the gate back up and locked it up good and tight. John dismounted his horse and a teenager about fifteen came running over and took the horse's reins and lead it towards the stable. An official looking man approached him holding out his hand.

"James Seaver, sorry for the treatment Mr.?"

"Marston,"

"Mr. Marston, we have to be careful, some of these things it's hard to tell if they're really undead or not, lot of the stragglers we've got coming in here look worse than the dead do. 'sides, we've got a lot of youngsters here, have to protect them." James shook Johns hand and offered him a drink, which John politely refused "where you coming from Mr. Marston?"

"Armadillo, stopped there to check things out, town was nearly overrun, we got it cleared out though. Before that Thieves Landing and Blackwater, same story on both of them."

"Pretty typical story from what I've been hearing, Fort Mercer's been a safe haven in this time of despair. As long as our ammunition, food, and water hold out we can make a pretty strong stand here."

"Look I came out here on the askin' of a man in Armadillo, seems his son was coming here on a wagon train, I was hoping to find the kid here."

James' face went ashen at the mention of the wagon train, he took off his hat and clutched it tight between his hands.

"Why don't you come with me Mr. Marston, there is something you need to see."

James led John down a few hallways in the fort to a large room with cots set up. A number of women and a few men were going back and forth to each bed. John looked closely and realized there was seven beds, each with an occupant, seven kids, ranging from about four to thirteen.

"Those some of the kids from Armadillo?" John asked in surprise

"That is everyone from Armadillo, from both wagon trains. Poor little things, not one of them have said a word since they got here."

"How did they get here?" John asked,

"I'd be happy to answer that question Mr. Marston, but first why don't we see if your friend's son is here shall we?"

John nodded, he pulled out the photograph that Sam had given him and between him and James they walked up and down the beds, comparing the photo to the kids. Not one of the kids moved as John leaned close to look, each one just stared straight ahead, right through John. He looked carefully, but did not see Jefferson

"I don't see him," John admitted

"Come Mr. Marston, I'll fix you a drink and we can chat."

XXX

In a small office, James took a seat behind a desk and offered John a seat as well. He pulled out a bottle of whiskey and poured a glass for himself and for John.

"Three days ago we were expecting two wagon trains full of women and children. A small exodus from Armadillo to escape the hordes. When the first wagon train failed to arrive, I sent one of my fastest riders out to trace their journey, see what was delaying them. He found what was left of the wagon overturned in the abandoned Mercer station, that little four year old you saw in the hospital there? She was the only survivor. She was small enough that when the wagon overturned, probably from the attacking hordes, she was hidden beneath the axel and the wagon. Jesse found her when he was shifting through the remains and ruble, brought her back to us then went out to warn the other wagon train. He was hoping to escort them here himself, he never returned."

"Sorry for your loss," John said and James nodded "but what about the other kids? The ones from the second train, how'd they get here by themselves?"

"I didn't say they were by themselves. When Jesse failed to return, I wasn't about to send anymore riders out. I needed as many here as possible to defend the Fort, and it was getting dark. I hoped to send a small party out in the morning to search for the train and get word back to Armadillo. The sun had just set when we heard screaming, two women were leading a small band of children up the road towards the fort, right behind them however was a horde making its way right for them. Instead of opening the gates, we threw down rope ladders and began climbing down, grabbing as many kids as we could and rushing them up over the wall. Miraculously we got all of them. When we went to get the women who had escorted them, it was to late, the hordes were upon us and before we could do anything they had torn one woman to shreds. We got the other one inside, but not before they had mangled her. She died a few hours later. Our resident doctor saw the signs of her being infected and we were forced to throw her body out to the hordes." James took a swig of his whiskey and then another "I have civilians in this fort, children, old folks, injured men and women. Not just the ones from Armadillo but also refuges from all over New Austin that made it here, I was forced to make a choice to protect those in my care. Those poor children, they watched people they know be eaten alive, it's understandable that they are all in shock." James paused "I am sorry that your friend's son was not among them. We won't know exactly how many were in either wagon train. I'm sure a lot of souls were lost in these past three days."

"Would it be possible for a kid on horseback to have escaped?" John asked, remembering that Sam had mentioned that Jefferson was on his own horse.

"It's possible, not very probable, and especially not probable that he'd survive. There's nothing that could be even remotely considered safe for miles aside from the fort, it's wide open desert out there Mr. Marston, tough for a grown man to endure let alone a kid. He'd be dead by now Mr. Marston, if not of exposure, then eaten by one of those creatures or some other kind of beast. You're better off restin' here a spell, then return to Armadillo if you're able, give them the news and brace your friend for the news. If his boy ain't here, he's gone."

John wasn't all that comfortable with that, he really didn't want to go and tell Sam that he couldn't find his son. But he did take James up on his offer and James showed him a private room with a cot so that he could get some much needed rest.

The next morning John made his way to the kitchen area, where one of the women fixed him up some grits and coffee. James was nearby talking to a couple of nuns, he nodded at John holding up a finger for him to wait a moment before sending the nuns on their way.

"How'd you sleep Mr. Marston?" he asked walking over

"Better than I have in a few days that's for sure." John replied sipping the coffee, it was bitter and strong, but hit the spot.

"I was thinking after our chat last night, I'd said it was possible but not very probable that a child could survive out there. If he was able to find shelter and water he could last a while, he'd have to be high off the ground and near some kind of water source. Food ain't nearly as important as water, especially in the desert. The human body can last about a week without food, maybe longer, but water if we don't get that in a few days we die."

"What are you saying?" John asked suspiciously

"The only place for miles that a kid could theoretically get too and make some kind of shelter is Tumbleweed. There aint no kid in this area that don't know about Tumbleweed, most of them avoid it 'cause of the ghost stories, hell even some adults avoid it, but kids know about it, they know it has buildings. Outlaws have been calling Tumbleweed home base for years now, they'd have to have some kind of water source nearby. If that kid made it to Tumbleweed he'd have a fighting chance."

John thought this over, all the times he'd ridden by Tumbleweed, the times he'd explored it looking for buried treasure after the gangs had been cleared out, the time he, the marshal, and the deputies were forced into a prisoner exchange to rescue Bonnie McFarland. He knew the area well and James was right, a kid could find a place to hide and be safe there if he was resourceful, which Sam had assured John, Jefferson was. It was possible, just a bit.

"Thank you for that information James, I think I may just have to check into that."

"Best of luck Mr. Marston, if you're ever in need of shelter, Fort Mercer is open to you, there's a rope ladder on the east side of the fort, them undead have no problem with stairs, but can't seem to master a ladder, it's there if you need it."

John nodded his thanks and headed back out to the stable to find his horse.

XXX

The first stop John made was back at the site of the wagon accident. He wanted to look for something he hadn't done the last time, a trail going opposite Fort Mercer. It took a while to search, there was so many disturbances and upheaval of the ground the tracks were pretty obscure. Until he found one set of hoof-prints, leading away from the scene at full gallop towards Rio Bravo and eventually to Tumbleweed. If James had been right the most logical place for Jefferson to go was Tumbleweed, John had no way of knowing if it was overrun or not, but he had to take the chance he had to see if the kid was there. Bracing himself for the upcoming ride, John took a deep breath, mounted his horse and spurred it towards Tumbleweed.


End file.
